


Shelter

by Monsterunderkilt



Series: The Manse [12]
Category: Actor RPF, Celebrities - Fandom, RPF - Fandom, Real Person Fanfic - Fandom, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26637436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monsterunderkilt/pseuds/Monsterunderkilt
Summary: Sir Ken is my comfy Eames chair
Series: The Manse [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1209447
Kudos: 1





	Shelter

“So, how exactly does this Manse harem marriage thing work, Madam Cait?”

From my seat on the bed, I look up from my Martha Stewart Living and see Sir Ken shut the bedroom door behind him. In the half light of the one bedside lamp, he begins to unbutton the cuffs of his shirt and smiles at me as he walks to my side of the bed, eyeing me expectantly. 

I take a deep breath and shrug. “Well, as you can see, I’ve had a bit of a mind cleanse, so my legacy husbands aren’t always around, and most of my boyfriends are similarly on reserve elsewhere, so for now, you’d be the cock of the walk, Sir.”

Ken smiles and begins unbuttoning his collar. “The sheer size of this place suggests that you had shepherded quite an extended family into one place at some point.” 

I narrow my eyes as he absently loosens each button, and I wonder why such a simple action elicits a warmth in my loins. It’s just him. Anything he does. I could literally watch him stir soup and be turned on. 

“I just wonder,” he continues, “How long before the hotel fills up.”

I nod and bite my lip. “Yeah, it was overwhelming once. I was more carefree and hopeful and full of innocent excitement. It was a fun time. I’m not sure I’d aggregate such an army these days.” I close my magazine and toss it onto my nightstand. I reach out and tug at his belt loop, bringing him closer. “It might just be me and you and the bedpost for a while.”

“And Alan.”

“And Alan,” I say. “He’s welcome to treat the place as his personal nudist colony. But don’t be surprised if the occasional side mancubine arrives once in a while and lays about drinking my wine and eating charcuterie all day.”

Ken shakes his head. “I wouldn’t think anything of it.” He shucks out of his shirt, wearing only his undershirt and jeans. “Getting too old for all the excitement of a circus, eh?”

There’s a soft tingle in my heart. “I had more energy then,” I say as I tickle his side a little. He giggles and grabs my hand instinctively, but then I get on my knees, slipping my hands up to his shoulders so I can see him eye-to-eye. I clasp my fingers behind his neck and lean my forehead against his. “Ken,” I whisper.

“Cait?”

I sigh. “I just need a retreat. A safe space. You’re my comfy chair at the end of the day. Comforting and still sexy of course.”

A sparkle of his wit is encapsulated in his wink. “I am that Eames chair you were polishing with that leather honey the other day.”

I grin through a chuckle, my face blushing hot with his unexpectedly risqué implication. “Yes, I suppose you are.” 

“Sweetheart, if you can watch grumpy old Wallander and still adore me as a… beefcake… then I am always here for you. A bit grizzly and aged, but always here.”

I rub my thumb against his jawline, and he lifts his chin, proudly as the day he recited that Saint Crispin’s Day speech at Agincourt. We kiss, tenderly, wholeheartedly, as slow as I want. 

Ken wraps his arms around me, then kisses my neck as he mumbles into my skin: “Whisper me words in the shape of a bay…”

I squeeze my tears from my eyes. “Shelter my love from the wind and the waves.”


End file.
